ADNOC To The Rescue!

English: Emarat gas station, Masfut just west of Hatta city, UAE (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Remember PetrolGate, the amazing story of how an oil-producing nation ran out of petrol? And the embarrassing silence of ENOC/EPPCO regarding the closure of its petrol stations in the Northern Emirates?


It's linked here for your viewing pleasure.

Now there's a new and fascinating twist to the tale. The Abu Dhabi National Oil Company, ADNOC, has signed an MoU with major retailer Emarat to acquire 74 of its 100 petrol stations across the Northern Emirates (Sharjah, Ajman, Umm Al Qawain, Ras Al Khaimah and Fujeirah).

ADNOC is the only fuel company in the UAE to refine its own petroleum, so it can sell petrol profitably at the UAE's subsidised prices, while the others have to buy their petrol on the international market. This means they were actually losing money for every litre of fuel they pumped.

Just in case readers living elsewhere in the world are interested, we currently pay Dhs 1.72 per litre or $0.47 or, if you prefer, £0.30. It's why I like chatting to London cabbies about how much it costs me to fill a Shogun (the Pajero is called a Shogun in Europe, one suspects because of a little Spanish accident). They're always cheery souls and it does them good to hear me chat about filling a 4WD for under twenty quid.

ENOC found it preferable to close its 51 petrol stations in the Northern Emirates rather than go on selling motion lotion at a loss. That loss cost the Government of Dubai (which owns ENOC) a cool $1.5 billion up to the end of last year.

ENOC's handling of the whole thing eventually led to the Government of Sharjah taking the unusual step of closing down all of ENOC/EPPCOs retail operations in the Emirate.

Amusingly, The National reports the news on the front page of its business section today, adding the detail,

"Like Emarat, Enoc has responded to losses by cutting its exposure in the Northern Emirates. It handed over its petrol stations outside Dubai to Adnoc last July."

This news was actually 'categorically denied' by ENOC last year when Gulf News originally ran the story of ENOC's Northern Emirates stations being taken over by ADNOC. The categorical denial was unusual, coming from a company that had maintained a policy of mendacity followed by radio silence.

Meanwhile, ADNOC will now operate a total of 224 petrol stations throughout the UAE. Profitably.

Bye!

I'm waving goodbye to her, but something tells me we haven't seen the last of the appalling Sarah Palin. The Africa thing was fun, but now another thread of stories has broken out that she had to be bullied onto stage at times.

Details are now emerging from both campaign camps about what really went on behind the scenes and, not surprisingly, the Republican stories are increasingly fascinating as recriminations and back-biting break out in various quarters. This quote from a most excellent article about the final days of the campaign by the Newsweek team, to be found in its fascinating entirety here.

"The day of the third debate, Palin refused to go onstage with New Hampshire GOP Sen. John Sununu and Jeb Bradley, a New Hampshire congressman running for the Senate, because they were pro-choice and because Bradley opposed drilling in Alaska. The McCain campaign ordered her onstage at the next campaign stop, but she refused to acknowledge the two Republican candidates standing behind her. McCain himself rarely spoke to Palin (perhaps once a week when they were not traveling together, estimated one adviser). Aides kept him in the dark about Palin's spending on clothes because they were sure he'd be offended. In his concession speech, McCain praised Palin, but the body language between them onstage was not particularly friendly. (Palin had asked to speak; Schmidt vetoed the request.)"

What a shame that Hunter isn't around to see this. I rather think he'd have enjoyed it immensely.

Mobile

That old Campaign column about mobiles reprised. Because some people are just soooo curious! :)


8am
Realise I’ve forgotten my mobile. Awareness dawns with an unpleasant feeling of nakedness and exposure. It’s too far back home to go and get it. Decide to go ahead with the day without phone.

9am
Send email to clients and colleagues letting them know. Colleagues start ‘I’ve been trying to call you but…’ jokes.

9.45am
Realise that I don’t know the number of our Jordanian office. Or my account manager’s mobile number. Put off making call and do job by myself.

10.40am
Colleague manages (do not ask me how, it still baffles me) to bruise her coccyx. Is in agony, bent over desk in silly posture and laughing helplessly. Reach for phone to take picture. No phone. Damn.

11.00am
Borrow colleague’s phone to SMS wife and let her know not to call me on the mobile. Struggle without predictive text and unfamiliar handset/interface.

11.10am
Wife concerned about receiving strange messages from a mobile she doesn’t know.

11.15am
Client wants to know why I don’t care about their account any more. We last talked at 5pm the night before. No, he hasn’t read his email. Why didn’t I tell him by ‘phone? I just about manage a smile and a cheery word, despite my heart being black.

12.00pm
Have a meeting. Run into traffic, running late. No mobile. Damn.

12.30pm
Get to meeting 30 mins late. Meeting has left the building as he didn’t hear from me and assumed I’d forgotten. Given I have a head stuffed with kapok, this is understandable, if frustrating.

1.30
Get back to the office only to find everyone’s ordered lunch without me because I wasn’t answering my mobile. Manage not to strangle someone. I have, after all, been making a huge fuss about it all day. You’d think they’d know by now.

2.00
Get around to ordering my lunch from… Go looking for menu because their number’s on the mobile.

2.15
Find menu. Number’s changed since then.

2.45
Get sandwich from Emarat. I can’t describe this in print because they’d sue.

3.00
Feel ill.

4.00
Apparently my behaviour is unforgiveable. Nobody in the office is talking to me. Day is beginning to look up. Actually get some work done.

4.30
Journalist complains to client that I haven’t been answering his calls. Client highly amused. PR less so. Add journalist’s name to the list of those that are first to go come the revolution.

5.00
Last meeting of the day. Nothing unusual at all happens.

6.00
Get to car, meeting some pals after work. Open door. Mobile, which fell into footwell on way into work, falls out.

6.01
Kick car. Hurt foot.

Avis

I was so busy posting up stuff about champagne over at The Fat Expat that I totally forgot to post this, although I had promised myself I would.

Flying back to LalaLand from LHR, we'd checked in and were going through security when I went to put my mobile in my laptop bag before going through the scanner. A creature of habit, I always put my mobile in the laptop bag for security. Not this time.

There was no mobile. I'd left it in the hire car. Now I don't know about you, but my mobile is relatively important to me. I once got a whole Campaign column out of the day I forgot my mobile. To fly back to work sans mobile was not an option. I had to get it back. We called the 'phone, but no answer. There was only one thing for it.

The nice bloke at immigration wouldn't let me just unleave the UK. I had to arrive again. So I left an exasperated Sarah and some mildly resigned hand baggage and made my way to flight transfers, where they said I could go to visit the UK again. Then I had to go the wrong way through a lot of scanners and amused security people. And then, finally to arrivals, where I waited at the bus stop for an Avis bus to turn up.

Now I was perfectly aware of my chances. Who in the world would expect to get that phone back from a hire car checker in the world's busiest airport? I stood, mentally kicking myself until I finally, three hours later (ten minutes, really) saw a red bus hove into view.

I explained. The driver got on the radio, called his control, who went on a quick search and then confirmed they had indeed got the mobile and would send it over on the next bus. No messing around, thoroughly pleasant and helpful, efficient and generally wonderful. And twenty minutes later I had my phone and was back at departures in plenty of time to do some last minute shopping and have a couple of swifties with herself.

Which, along with their excellent, flexible and intelligent customer service throughout our complicated holiday car arrangements, is why I'll be using Avis from now on.

It's also why I went to the UK twice this summer - and managed to leave twice in an hour!

It's all in the Name

I have previously referred to the highly amusing letter sent by His Brittanic Majesty's Ambassador to Moscow to his mate Reggie, Lord Pembroke.

Now I have a further Turkish Name Amusement to share thanks to pal Scott who shared this link.

I can't wait for him to become Prime Minister. If he does, it'll presumably be because his name carries with it such a compelling campaign proposition. Scott actually called their campaign headquarters to try and blag a t-shirt, but no dice!

Cack

There's a grand old tradition of unintentionally funny language in the Gulf which, although it's not as strong a vein of humour as it used to be, occasionally still provides some innocent and welcome amusement (the odd 'ray of light' as Archibald Clerk Kerr called it). There's everything from 'Hinglish' to simply misapplied language and even the occasional uninentionally amusing 'transliteration of a non Romance language'.

Gone are the days when you'd find 'cack' on a restaurant menu, replacing the more popular cake, although the sign More Parking in Backside still graces one frontage in Sharjah. And the soon-to-be deleted Karama area of Dubai is still home to the Wanton Chinese and Philipino Restaurant while Sharjah still has Butt Sports and Motley Garments Trading to delight the observant shop-front watcher.

Just in case you thought the day had gone and the skill was lost, Ajman's perimeter road now gives us Nile Fresh Water Trading. Sweet water indeed.